


De falsitate

by Raicho



Series: Miserere mei, Deus [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Boyking!Sam, Consort Dean Winchester, Dark Sam Winchester, Hell Fic, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mommy Dean, Mpreg, Pregnant Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 09:49:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7886368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raicho/pseuds/Raicho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wondered if his words were taken to heart like the falsehoods spilled from the mouth of their King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	De falsitate

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to get back into this story, so I'm working out some snippets and potential plots for an end-game.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

            The King was away on business, tied to his throne with the whispers of plots, and Dean was left alone with only the company of his children—their presence persistent and ever-filling the empty graves abandoned inside of his heart.

            _Dear dying Lamb, thy precious blood_

 _Shall never lose its power._

            The children sang mock-hymns through the open window, their sugar-sweet voices carried through the air like cotton candy on the wind. The odor of burning flesh and thick smoke wafted into the chamber room from outside where piles of corpses were consumed by flame and ash. The scent caused Dean to crinkle his nose in disgust as he lazily stretched into the comfort of the rich velour chaise lounge.

            _Till all the ransomed church of God_

 _Be saved, to sin no more._

            “It’s not polite to taunt them.” Dean chastised as he shut his eyes before leaning into the soft cushions of the furniture.

            _Then in a nobler, sweeter song,_

 _I’ll sing thy power to save._

            Young laughter echoed through the room.

            “They’re being saved.” His son, Belias, spoke with explanation.

            Dean huffed with amusement, “There is no such thing as being saved.”

            “Father says there is.” Olivier chimed.

            Dean opened his eyes to look over at his children—a garden of thorns disguised as roses, “Your father says a lot of things,” he rubbed one hand over his belly before gripping the furniture to pull himself into an upright position, “And it doesn’t mean that what he says is true.”

            Pink bowed lips turned to stubborn pouts as Dean continued to chide—his children were always more inclined and willing to listen to their father before considering his word. His rotting body would grow and nurture seeds of youth, but never were they to be blossoms of incorruption and decency.

            “Everything he says is true,” Haine barked out, his eyes filling with shades of red rage “He would never lie to us.”

            Dean shook his head in disappointment; his children would never understand the extent of their father’s lies and manipulations. They were his devout apostles, ready and willing to blindly follow their King down whichever path he may decide. Dean’s warnings and pleas would forever fall on deaf ears, only the corpses beneath the dirt lie still enough with empty thoughts to listen and take heed. Argument was not an option.

“You’re right,” Dean’s smile was hollow but gentle as he patted at the empty seat beside him, ushering his children to his side, “Your father would never lie...” Dean paused and stroked the underside of his abdomen as he felt his unborn bantling kick, "He would never lie to you."

            Never to his beloved disciples.

            One by one his babes crawled to his side and clambered into his lap and arms with eagerness to apologize for ever doubting his loyalty. With their fingers held tightly in his palm, he could feel the tugging of his heartstrings. He kissed each child on the forehead and brushed away soft curls from their faces as he sang the last line of their neglected hymn.

            _When this poor lisping, stammering tongue_

 _Lies silent in the grave._

Dean wondered if his words were taken to heart like the falsehoods spilled from the mouth of their King. He wondered if his children would believe his lie.

            “You father will save the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> The hymn in this is 'There Is a Fountain Filled with Blood'.


End file.
